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Goethe: Wanderer's Evening Song (Other) by Sasha Over every hill now:
repose.
From every tree now
blows
barely a breath. The tune
of birds in the wood is through.
Only wait wanderer, soon
you will rest, too.
Up the ladder:
The follies befalling an unfledged street poet.
Down the ladder:
Sonnet
Votes: (green: user, blue: anonymous)
Arithmetic Mean: 8.428572
Posted: November 2, 2004 11:21 AM PST; Last modified: November 2, 2004 11:21 AM PSTWeighted score: 5.922085 Overall Rank: 1419 Comments:
[9]
vulcan @ 80.242.8.17
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2-Nov-04/11:58 AM
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Reply
pleasant!
282 view(s)
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